What Really Matters
by AnEquivalentExchange
Summary: The day after his automail surgery, Ed is feeling its sickening effects. Al is the only one there to comfort him.


**I've posted this story on here before but took it down a while ago to rework it, finally satisfied and re-uploading it now. Enjoy! :)**

* * *

Edward awakes in a cold sweat. Hair plastered to his face with sweat, catching in his mouth; his whole body shivering. As the last nightmare ends, he gasps, his eyes shooting open.

He finds himself staring at the wooden planks of the ceiling. Sunlight filters in through the window. Edward guesses it is midday, maybe a little later. Granny has let him sleep in.

He supposes that is right too. His automail ports had been installed just the day before. The pain from the surgery was beginning to return; he figures it has been quite a while since Pinako gave him another dose of morphine to keep the pain away and help Ed sleep through his first night.

The waning effects of the opiate also account for the nightmares that had awoken Ed. Terrible visions of grotesque monsters, of blood and pain, and his family dying again and again in terrible ways, Ed, helpless to do anything but watch.

The dreams still haunt him and swim across his vision even with his eyes open. They make him feel ill. The pain does nothing to drive the images away. He can feel a migraine coming on, and pain emanates from his two ports, pounding with every beat of his heart.

That's when the urge hits him. Panic begins to set in. He had thrown up countless times yesterday during the surgery, spitting up blood and emptying his stomach of all its contents. The feeling was beginning to become familiar to Edward. His stomach and throat are still sore from it all.

Ed glances around, noticing he is the only one in the room. He calls out, to Granny, to Winry, but receives no response.

With the urge rising, Ed's good hand begins to move frantically. He throws the covers from his body and pushes himself up, gritting his teeth to keep from crying out from the pain that comes with the movement. It only makes his stomach twist more.

The wet cloth that had been covering his forehead falls to the floor, and that's when Ed notices his temporary prosthetic leg sitting near his bedside. Without a second thought he leans forward and grabs it. With a shaking hand he attaches it, thankful that it connects easily with a latch.

He heaves himself up onto his feet and immediately comes crashing back down. His weak legs are unused to carrying his weight. Luckily he caught himself before falling completely onto the floor.

Without a second thought he immediately gets back up and dashes unsteadily to the room's connected bathroom, pulling the door shut with a loud _bang_ as he stumbles in.

He slides to a stop, dropping down heavily onto the floor before the toilet. The impact makes his healing knee flare with pain. Ed yelps from the sudden, jarring pain when the bile rises in his throat, and he has just enough time to lean down before it comes. His stomach heaves as he coughs up his stomach's contents.

He chokes and tries to catch his breath but the vomit and blood keep coming. His entire body shakes violently from the spell, his one hand gripping the toilet seat as hard as his weak muscles can. His heart is pounding in his ears but all he can hear is the sound of his own retching.

The vomiting stops just as quickly as the urge had come. It leaves Edward spent and dizzy. His head is pounding, and his chest trembles as his lungs struggle to breath. He spits the last of the vomit from his mouth, and feels it fall against his chin. He makes no urges to wipe it; his body is too exhausted to move.

When he finally catches his breath, Ed knows the vomiting has passed, but the nausea still lingers. He rests his arm and chin miserably on the toilet seat. Black splotches dance across his vision, his head is feeling light as air, his thoughts are nothing more than disconnected notions.

He doesn't even feel himself pass out.

* * *

The first thing Edward registers when he comes to is the call of his own name. It's faint and makes Ed wonder is he had actually heard anything in the first place.

His eyes blink and he glances up, realizing he's still resting against the toilet on the bathroom floor, before his eyes slip closed again. He knows not a lot of time could have passed considering he still feels just as awful as he did before.

"Ed!"

The call is closer now, muffled by nothing more than the closed bathroom door.

Ed curses. It was definitely Al. The metallic echo that accompanies his voice and the heavy footsteps that stop just outside the door are enough to drive any of the suspicion from Ed's clouded mind.

There's a knock at the door. "Brother?"

Ed doesn't answer. It's all he can do to not fall back into unconsciousness.

"Brother, I'm coming in, okay?"

The door slowly creaks open, and Al continues talking even when Ed does not answer. "Granny and Winry went to town to get some things we need. They told me to stay here with you. It hadn't crossed my mind when I didn't see you in your bed that you could have gotten up and walked out. I didn't know where you had gone. How did you even…" His words halt as his large armor form stops in the doorway, finally seeing his older brother on the floor. He gasps slightly with a hollow echo before falling into silence.

Ed finally cracks open an eye when he doesn't hear his brother. He can tell Al is studying him, noticing the leg haphazardly attached to his stump, his weak and limp body hanging over the toilet, and the miserable look across his pale and sweaty face.

"I'm fine." Ed finally chokes out the words; they sound thick and rough coming from his burning throat. They come out as nothing more than a gravely croak so Ed clears his throat and focuses on forming his next words. "Just go wait outside, Al. Please."

A long silence ensues between the two. Edward stares up at his younger brother in the doorway. His eyes have trouble focusing on the suit of armor, his vision is still blotchy. But he finally trains his eyes on the helmet, looking into the eyeholes as if he will see something in there that he couldn't before. But Al's expression is unreadable like it always is in that armor.

The lights that posed as his eyes have dimmed away, almost as if Al has his eyes closed. Edward waits for his brother to move or speak or visibly show some damn emotion but Edward hasn't been able to see emotion on his brother's face in a long time. He prays he will see something in that hollow, metal face that gives way to what Al is thinking, just like the old days, but those old days are long gone; Edward knows they'll never return.

Finally Al breaks the silence, and the turmoil that is raging through Edward's head, with a sigh. It's gentle and hollow like the muffled sound of a bell that has been rung. "No, you're not fine," he murmurs. Ed knows that if his brother still had his body, his lips barely would have moved with the statement, the words were defiant but calm and caring all the same.

Ed lowers his head heavily back down onto the toilet seat and shuts his eyes, too exhausted and sick to answer. He coughs. His heart is still pounding from the latest spell. He spits into the toilet, trying to get the last of the taste out of his mouth as Alphonse walks in, closing the door behind his large form, and begins running the tap.

Ed's body tremors, not from the weakness of his body, but with the shaky, suppressed quivers that came before tears.

This is the first time he has been alone, and fully conscious, around his little brother in such a long time, and he doesn't like it. And he hates that he doesn't like it. And he hates the awkward silence that asks unanswered questions of guilt, and he hates the burden he feels they both carry, and he hates the secrets they both know but won't say, but most of all he hates the sound of his brother's creaking metal body as he crouches down to Edward's level.

"Brother, look at me."

Ed opens one eye again. From this angle he can see Al towering over him. Even from his small position crouched on the floor, he is hulking compared to Edward.

Ed bites at his lips to keep him from doing something stupid like actually start crying especially considering how vulnerable he is suddenly feeling.

"Edward."

Ed's breath catches involuntarily. His eyes open fully, and his body freezes at the sound of Al's voice. It is serious and devoid of Al's usual levity, but it still holds its usual calm and gentle demeanor. It's what he had said. _Edward_. Al only called his brother by his full name when it really mattered, or when he had a slip from his usual jovial nature and the gravity of a situation set in.

It makes Ed want to curl up and hide, but he finds himself lifting his dizzy head from the toilet seat and sitting up as much as he can to face his brother.

Al's helmet remains expressionless and he makes no noises that make it evident what he is thinking. He reaches one of his large gauntlets, which contradicts his tender movements, and gingerly wipes the vomit from off Ed's chin with a wet towel. His movements are rough and jerky, and Ed knows that Al is still trying to understand how to move when he cannot feel a thing.

Ed watches his brother's hand, feeling like a helpless baby that can't even take care of himself, who needs his little brother to do the simplest tasks for him.

When Al finishes he reaches up and tosses the towel into the sink, and just as he's coming back down Edward closes his eyes, his mind absolute. "Al. Please leave."

Al kneels down, his metal legs scraping against the bathroom floor. "I'm not going to leave you, not like this," he says as if that were the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard.

Ed knows he has looked much worse than this before. The worst was yesterday during his port installation surgery when he started to cry and moan and spit up blood from the pain of the surgery. But the only ones present to witness that had been Winry and Granny; Al had been kept away until Ed's condition had become more stable. It had been Edward's request that Al was not there to witness him in such a sick and vulnerable state; he wasn't sure if Winry or Pinako had told Al this but Ed knows he had realized this on his own if they hadn't.

"Al…" he pleaded. "Please. I don't want you to see me like this."

"Like what, Ed? Because all I see right now is the brother I've always had, but right now he just needs my help."

"I shouldn't need your help. I'm your older brother. And you shouldn't have to see me like this."

Alphonse sighed, his lights dimming away once again. "Brother, we're just kids. You can't expect to do everything by yourself. Especially not while your body is still healing. You need to accept that sometimes you need help."

"I don't want anybody's help. I don't need it," Ed answers defiantly, but there is no real fight left in his weak body.

Al pauses. "You really think so, Brother?" He glances at the toilet, which Ed is still leaning on haphazardly, then back to his brother, sprawled on the bathroom floor.

Ed rests his head back down to avoid his brother's gaze. "I don't want to talk about this."

"Fine," Al says after a pause. "Here, let me carry you back to your room; you're not supposed to be walking on your leg until it's properly healed."

Ed waves him away. "I'm fine, I'm fine." He heaves himself up. "After all, I did make it here on my own." Ed pushes himself up with help from the toilet. He makes it about halfway up before his legs give out and he falls back down, his knees slamming hard into the tiles. Ed barely holds back a scream and instead hisses loudly as the pain registers. His knees were already sore from falling once before, but a second time has made the pain in his healing stump almost unbearable and he feels the urge to vomit rising a second time.

"Brother!" Alphonse moves forward, placing a hand gently on Edward's shoulder.

Ed keeps his hand planted firmly planted against the floor as he waits for the agonizing, jolting pain and nausea to subside. They linger for a long time, leaving Ed with tears in his eyes.

"Brother, are you alright?" Al asks, his voice borderline frantic. He's a ten year old boy in a completely foreign situation, watching the only family he has left struggling to do simple tasks like standing or keeping food down. Ed feels bad for making him worry so much.

"I'm okay," he hisses through clenched teeth.

"Brother, you're hurt. Let me—"

Ed suddenly swats Al's helping hand away, pretending not to feel the pain as his arm collides with Al's metal one. The sound of the impact echoes within Alphonse's body, reminding Ed that his brother is hollow, and that only makes the tears in his eyes grow heavier. _"I said no, Al!"_ he yells, his voice catching halfway through. He looks away.

Al sits in shock for just a second before fighting back. "You have nothing to prove, Ed, so why do you always refuse to accept help?" His voice isn't as loud as his brother's but there's just as much vigor.

"Because, Al." Ed's voice shakes to a quiet murmur. He shakes his head with frustration as the words catch hesitantly in this throat. He reaches up his arm without thinking and rests his palm against Al's thick, metal thigh. His fingers quickly form a tight fist, fingers scraping against the steel. "Because _I don't deserve it."_ His form begins to shake, his chest heaving, but tears still do not fall.

"Brother." It's just a whisper, a wisp of a voice accented with a faint echo of metal. "Why—"

" _Because I brought this on myself, Al._ I-it was _my_ stupid idea to bring mom back, a-and it was my fault something went wrong. Don't you see? It was my fault, it's...it's all my fault…" Ed's words trail off. He sits up, pulling his arm from Al's armor and roughly running it over his eyes before Al can see his tears.

"It wasn't just your fault…"

"It _was,_ Al. I just dragged you down with me." Ed chokes on a sob and rubs his arm over his eyes again.

"Ed…it's okay for you to cry."

His brother's statement was not what Ed had expected to hear. It makes him stop and pull his arm from his face. His mouth twists into a miserable frown as he looks back at Alphonse and new tears form in his tired eyes. "I—I don't want to."

Al sighs, and Ed wonders if he will start another argument, but knows there is no fight left in either of them even if they tried.

Before he can answer, Ed continues. "You can't cry, so I don't want to. You can't eat or sleep or feel anything." His hand rests on Al's armor once again, his shoulders hunched and his face turned to the floor. "And it's my fault. I put you in that armor, and I'm the reason you can't do any of those things anymore. You can't cry, and as long as you can't, I don't want to either." But with each word he says, Ed begins crying more. The tears fall onto Al's leg, sliding easily off the smooth surface of the metal. "I'm sorry, Al. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry…I'm…" he begins muttering until his words are finally drowned out by failed attempt to choke back his cries.

Ed refuses to fight it anymore because he knows right now he can't hold it back. He begins to weep, sobbing over everything that has happened and everything that has gone wrong, sobbing harder than he has since his mother's funeral.

But Alphonse is there through it all, whispering soft words of encouragement in a way only he can with a hand gently placed hesitantly on Ed's shoulder. It only makes Ed cry harder because Al cares, and it leaves Ed awestruck just how much his brother can really care so much when the world has done nothing but turn its back on him, and it hurts.

It hurts because Al deserves better. He deserves so much better than a deadbeat dad, and a mother and a childhood that were gone too soon, and he deserves better than an older brother, puking his last shreds of dignity into the toilet, slowly withering away from the pain of surgery, making him worry so much when it wasn't his fault he got pulled into all of this.

And he doesn't deserve to be trapped in a metal prison, unable to eat or feel, forced to stay awake every night and dwell on such horrible thoughts.

And that makes Ed cry harder.

"I-it just hurts," Ed gets out with a quivering voice that's barely audible. He doesn't even know whether he's talking about his aching leg or everything else that's gone wrong but he figures it's a bit of both.

Al, to his everlasting credit, doesn't question it, but instead just says, "I know, Brother. I'm sorry that it does."

Ed's shoulders hitch as he nods at his brother's words but still refuses to look up.

Al takes advantage of the fact that Edward has begun to calm down to lift him up in his large arms, knowing his older brother is too exhausted now to protest.

Ed says nothing, and instead closes his sore and bloodshot eyes, and rests his head against Al's chest plate. For a moment there is nothing more than the sound of Ed's occasional hiccups and Al's heavy footsteps, followed by the turn of the doorknob, and the creak as Al pushes the bathroom door open.

Ed notes, as they cross the room, that the Rockbells still haven't returned. The house is quiet besides the footsteps of a suit of armor and a broken boy's quieting cries as he begins to doze in his brother's gentle arms.

* * *

Al can tell his brother's body is still feeling the effects of surgery as he places him back into bed. He decides to leave Ed's prosthetic connected. Even though it looks so foreign and wrong on Edward's body, Al is afraid to fumble with it with his jerky and unfeeling hands, and decides to let Winry or Granny do it. He pulls the blanket up over the leg instead, bringing it up to Edward's chest, all the while feeling so much more grown up than he really is.

Alphonse kneels down and sits at his brother's bedside with the intent of guarding over Ed as he sleeps so nothing like this can happen to him again.

He looks at Ed's face. Al's relieved to see it's much calmer now. Tear tracks trace from his closed eyes down his cheeks. His skin is still pale and damp and there are dark marks under both eyes, but still he looks more peaceful than he has in a while.

Alphonse is beginning to think his brother has already fallen asleep when his eyes open just to slits, his dull gold irises barely visible. They train on Al for a moment then close just as quickly.

Ed sniffles one last time. "I'm sorry, Al." It's different this time. It's not choked by sobs, not pushed out by a desperate and pleading voice, but stated instead, exhaustion slurring the words.

Al isn't sure what made Ed say it. Either because of the failed human transmutation and everything else that has happened as a result, or because Al had witnessed Ed's lapse in composure. Al's willing to bet it's a bit of both. But he doesn't care, he doesn't mind. Because Ed is his brother, and he always will be the only family he has, and that's all that matters. So Al reaches up and carefully squeezes his brother's shoulder with his large hand. "It's okay, Ed," he says.

Because, for now at least, it is. And that's what really matters.


End file.
